


miles to go before i sleep

by luca



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8102551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luca/pseuds/luca
Summary: Kohta’s spiral begins with a simple photoshoot and ends with a whispered I love you too.





	

There are one thousand miles between him and home, a distance measured in seas and skies, the cost of hours he won’t get back. Harder and harder for Kohta to believe this is all fine, all fine and he wonders whether dreams have expiry dates, whether they thrive on some sort of fuel he is running out of.

“All done! You look so handsome.” The stylist in front of him says, patting down his suit. There isn’t a wrinkle on it but Kohta has realised now that everyone will use any excuse to touch you in this industry. So he puts on a smile and looks down at her with a believable appreciation that makes her blush. Like red ink on paper someone used to rub out a mistake and he scowls when she turns away from him, shy. 

“All thanks to you.” He says through his teeth and he is an actor through and through. No amount of photoshoots and empty schedules can ever take that away from him. She hands him a mirror before tucking a strand of wiry hair beneath her ear, looking up at him through her lashes in a way she must believe is pretty. What Kohta hates most, he thinks, are ugly people who don’t know they are ugly. 

He takes it from her anyway and peers into it. A boy stares back at him, pallid and ghostly. Sunken eyes in a sunken face and he is all sharp nose and angled bones. There is no softness in him and he wonders then, whether everyone around him is just shit at their job or this is just who he has become. 

The director calls him over with a hand and Kohta throws the mirror back at the girl before following. He steps to the rhythm of _worth, worth, worth,_ to the thought of his pay check and his contract. The fluorescent lights melt at his skin, a sickening burn that bubbles beneath him but it’s not enough to dull him and he tightens his smile, shakes the hand of the person he is introduced to. 

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you, Kohta. I’m Jinwoo.” The other says. His eyes are too large for his face, his lips too small but Kohta sees something half beautiful there and at least this they can get right. 

“Likewise.” He replies shortly through tight lips. He tries to listen to the director – stand over here, put your hand on his shoulder – but Jinwoo obviously doesn’t catch the coldness in Kohta’s gaze because he keeps talking. 

“I heard you’re from Japan?” He asks, smiling up at him. Strangely, Kohta finds it warm. It must be the lights, he reminds himself.

“Yes.” A camera flash goes off and he turns his head for the next shot. Click, click, flash. 

“It must have been hard for you to move here.” _Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ Kohta thinks. 

“Yes.” 

A pause and Kohta thinks he is saved from this incessant, pointless talk but Jinwoo opens his mouth again and looks up at him through his fringe. Somehow different than all those he’s seen before and his eyes consume half his face, a pool of black and brown Kohta drowns himself in unknowingly. 

“You’re an actor, right?”

Of course he’s a fuckin’ actor. Years spent training and practicing and he didn’t sacrifice so much for anyone to mistake him as anything less. If his management would stop giving him these dumb photoshoots, perhaps people would stop mistaking him for a third-rate model, or, god forbid, an idol. “Yes.” Kohta replies tersely, moving to stand over Jinwoo as the director tells him. He moves closer than he should, until he can feel Jinwoo’s breath against his neck, because that’s the shit people eat up, he tells himself. That’s the shit that’ll sell this book to those dumb fangirls. 

Like this, Kohta smells something familiar beneath the stench of cologne and he leans in unconsciously. What is it, what is it, this scent that lingers in Kohta’s memory? It consumes him entirely and he is suspended between then and now, caught in an empty space, half-formed and wanting.

“I’m sure you’ll be an amazing actor.” Jinwoo says as the camera goes off again. His voice is low and quiet, a lull croon that pulls Kohta in just so he can here it all. He can see the moles against Jinwoo’s neck peaking beneath a layer of make-up, the shadows his lashes cast against his cheeks. Perhaps Kohta was wrong when he said this was a person half-beautiful. Under Kohta’s shadow, he seems like something much more than he’ll ever know. There is a muted, drowned sound that calls to him but Kohta feels submerged and only when a hand comes to rest on his shoulder is he pulled out of the water.

“Kohta! We’re done.” 

Out of the water, Jinwoo stares at him worriedly, a warm weight against his shoulder. Kohta blinks once, twice, before looking around. Oh, he realises as he sees the staff packing up. It’s over.

A little shaken, he runs a hand over his face and hopes that will wake him up. “I’m sorry.” He says, and it sounds genuine to him, strangely. He must be getting better at acting. 

Jinwoo hums but the worried look never leaves his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” There is a dull silence then and Kohta thinks it must be truly over. Kindness has a limit, patience has an end and Kohta prepares to leave, moves to pack his bags and go back to his dingy apartment and sleep – but then a hand grabs his own gently and pulls him back. A scowl mars his face but it dies when he sees Jinwoo, shy and small. So maybe he did get the hints before and Kohta is ice and fire combined. Somehow, he doesn’t like this look on Jinwoo as he does on all the others

“I – I know what you’re thinking. It must be strange for you to do this when you should be acting.” He laughs, hollow. “But I hope this doesn’t discourage you. Giving up is worse than failure.” He says finally and Kohta wants to sneer at him. What does he know about hard work, this pretty boy with pale skin and soft hands? What does he know of the miles Kohta has seen, the people he has left just to go to a place where work is scarce and he is a nobody in a crowd of no ones? When Jinwoo looks at him though, vulnerable and open, he finds his voice stuck in his throat. Jinwoo looks like he did, once. 

“Right, yeah. Right.” He says a little awkwardly, running fingers through his hair. He should leave, he should leave. Kohta feels like he’s sinking and he should leave before he drowns wholly – but before he can take a step, a staff member comes up to them, a polaroid camera pointed in their direction.

Jinwoo moves like its instinct. He wraps his arm around Kohta’s shoulder and pulls him in, staring at the camera with a practiced smile. It happens so quickly and before he realises it, the flash goes off and Jinwoo is bowing to the staff, a picture in his hand. He stares at it almost reverently, humming to himself before handing it over to Kohta.

“I like you like this.” He says. When Kohta looks at the picture, he thinks he sees why. Their faces are too white, their eyes too dark. Ghostly and haunting but – but Kohta looks so bright, so young and free. He likes him like this too. 

He doesn’t know how long he stares at the photo before Jinwoo coughs and speaks again. His mouth is twisted into a fine line and he plays idly with the ring on his finger. “Do – do you want to have some drinks with me? I understand if you’re busy.” 

Drinks. Kohta thinks of his single bed in his small apartment, of a loneliness weighed in foreign words and foreign people. He puts the photo in his pocket. “Sure.”

  
  


It is far too cramped in here, Kohta thinks. The stench of alcohol is burning and the seats stick to his clothes, peeling whenever he moves. Around him, plumes of smoke hover like a fog and he squints in the darkness. Their managers watch them from afar, lost in their own conversation, but oddly, Kohta doesn’t mind at all.

“Kohta.” Jinwoo drawls. Flushed from a couple drinks and he leans on Kohta’s shoulder, half-lidded. “Kohta, Kohta, Kohta.” He chants over and over again like a song. It sounds addicting on his tongue and Kohta wants to hear it there always. 

“Yes. I’m here.” He laughs, pushing Jinwoo up. Annoying on anyone else but he is so happy and friendly and Kohta can only focus on the flush of his cheeks and the warmth of his breath on his skin. He is so, so close and he can feel the press of Jinwoo thigh against his own, incredibly tempting and distracting all the same. 

“You’re so handsome.” Jinwoo says, rubbing a hand beneath Kohta’s jaw and Kohta lets him. Maybe they’ve both had a little too much to drink tonight, he thinks. 

“I know.”

Jinwoo squints up at him almost adorably and taps him on the chin. “You could be an actor.” He whispers as if he has just stumbled upon some secret revelation and Kohta can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. 

“I _am_ an actor.” He says and when Jinwoo’s hand falls away from him, limp and tired, he catches it back in his own and holds it against him. Strange and absurd for anyone to touch him like this, for him to seek it out even more – but Kohta finds it warm and alcohol is easy to blame.

“Oh! See, just as I predicted.” Jinwoo breathes out, looking completely amazed. “You’d be an amazing actor.”

“So you’ve told me before.”

“No, but really. You’d be amazing. Don’t you think? A star.”

“You’re drunk.” He dismisses but this only incites Jinwoo more, until he is left half sitting on Kohta’s lap, an arm around his shoulder.

“Yes! So what? I still think you’re very handsome. A bit cold but that’s okay. I like you anyway.” 

Oh, Kohta thinks. Hardly delusional and he knows who he is. He is mean and judgemental and _I like you anyway_ – but he’s also just an outright dick, arrogant and somewhat cruel and _I like you anyway_. Strangely beautiful, beautifully strange and Kohta hangs on these words, on this feeling of being liked wholly and being in love partly. 

Jinwoo hiccups, buries his head deeper into the crook of Kohta’s neck and Kohta’s dick throbs. The alcohol, he reminds himself. It’s only that. That, and Jinwoo’s pretty, pretty face and his crooning voice and his warmth, his – 

Fuck. Kohta runs a hand through his hair and pushes Jinwoo a little further away. “Take a break.” He says and he’s not exactly sure to who but Jinwoo huffs anyway and downs another shot, hissing. His lips are wet and pink and swollen and Kohta leans in, closer, closer. God, he’s fuckin’ beautiful. 

Jinwoo’s gentle hum breaks the spell. He says a name beneath his breath, two parts fondness to one part instinct, but it is not Kohta’s so he doesn’t care.

(Later, he realises he should have very much cared. Perhaps if he did, it would have saved him a little sooner.)

Kohta reels back like he’s burned and slides a little further away until Jinwoo is left leaning on the table for support. It chills him instantly, and so regret is a distance and a coldness combined. “You should get home.” He says. It’s late and Kohta is drunk and tired and confused. He calls over Jinwoo’s manager with a wave of his hand and watches as he grabs him by the waist and halls him up.

“You’ll get him home? Safely?” It’s a dumb, stupid question but it tumbles out of him before he knows it. Thankfully, Jinwoo’s manager only nods back before leaving with Jinwoo, who waves adoringly to his fans outside. When he turns around one last time, he smiles at Kohta in a way different from the one he throws at his fans, in a way that makes him feel like this is a look reserved only for him. 

Kohta flops back down on the booth and downs another shot.

  
  


He comes home like a hurricane, strips off his pants and falls into bed. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, he wants this all to pass – but thoughts of Jinwoo leave him half-hard and wanting and he groans, leans over to his bedside table and fumbles for the lube. Fuck it, he thinks and squirts it all over his palm. In his mind, he’ll do what he wants.

His hand is warm around his throbbing dick and he spreads the lube from the tip to the base, stroking to a steady rhythm. This could be Jinwoo’s palm, he imagines. Or his mouth or his tight pink ass stretched wide and Kohta groans and thrusts up until his hips lift off the bed. He squeezes the base and tries to remember how Jinwoo’s hand had felt in his own, how big they were, how soft. 

“Fuck.” Kohta swears. “Fuckin’ take it, yeah, just like that. So good, so good.” Jinwoo is on his knees now, his mouth stuffed full with Kohta’s cock and this is it, this will do. He imagines those cheeks puffed pink, spit dribbling down his chin and neck. In his mind, Jinwoo looks like the perfect little whore, hungry and greedy and a slobbering mess. He’d run his teeth gently along his cock, sucking at his ball sac before going back to suckle at the tip. Kohta would fuck his swollen mouth raw and fill him up until he chokes. His hand tightens almost painfully around his dick, thinking of how good that throat would feel around him, tight and wet and convulsing. “Yeah, yeah, you take it so well for me.” He mutters under his breath. Shit, and Jinwoo would be fingering his own ass too, getting himself prepared for Kohta so prettily. Stuffed at both ends and Kohta would give him whatever he wanted if he asked. 

Jinwoo would probably moan for him and let the vibrations shoot up his cock. Kohta pinches lightly at the skin of his balls at the thought and rolls them in the palm of his hands. His pre-cum flows thicker now and he pictures it as Jinwoo’s spit, pictures his hand in that hair, tugging harshly. 

“Shit, yeah.” He mutters, feeling it build in the pit of his stomach. He strokes himself faster, digging a nail into the tip and dragging at the vein on the underside. Jinwoo would probably stay still for him then like the good little pet he is and let Kohta fuck his throat sore, eyes watering beautifully. He tries to remember more of Jinwoo, the constellation of moles against his skin, the dimple by the side of his mouth. But it is that scent, so familiar and far away, that hits him and it consumes Kohta just as before, smelling of salt and wind and summer. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come.” He chants to the rhythm of his thrusts. Oh, what would Jinwoo do? Would he pop off his pink, swollen lips and let Kohta come all over his face? Or would he suck him harder and swallow it all down? Too much all at once and Kohta feels his toes begin to curl and his hand clench against the sheets. He groans obscenely, loudly, and splutters to the image of Jinwoo, this time, looking down at him with that smile made just for him. 

Sweating, Kohta comes down from his high as quickly as he had reached it. His pants echo deafeningly against the quiet. He feels dirty and guilty and, for maybe the first time in his life, pathetic. Wiping himself off clean, he lies back down to stare at a blank ceiling and wonders whether this was how all great men realised they were fucked.

  
  


Perhaps Jinwoo is also lonely, Kohta thinks. Or maybe his schedule is just as empty as his because he invites him over one day, having managed to get his number from his manager. If Kohta accepts a little too quickly, he doesn’t think of it much. Nothing has made sense in a very long while. 

Jinwoo’s dorm is large and modern, a complete contrast to his own. It smells of money, but also of sweat and sleepless nights and so Kohta finds he can hardly feel bitter about it. A hairless cat comes up to greet him the moment he walks in and rubs itself on his leg. Somewhat ugly, it looks inside out but it is graceful in its own way and he kneels down to stroke behind its ear. Its purr reverberates through him, almost as much as Jinwoo’s laugh when he picks it up in his arms. 

“She likes you!” Jinwoo says, then frowns when it jumps onto Kohta’s shoulders instead. “More than me.” 

Kohta smiles and follows him into his room. “It’s only ‘cause I’m new.” He comforts, placing himself on the bed. Jinwoo’s room is a mess, a collection of posters and useless collectibles but it is completely him and Kohta likes it.

As he watches Jinwoo fumble around with the monitor, he notices the eerie silence of a dorm thrice as big as his own. Oh, that’s right, Jinwoo’s in a boyband and there’s what, how many? Four? Five? “Where are your other members?” He wonders aloud and though it is minute and hardly there, he catches Jinwoo stilling for a second anyway. It disappears as quickly as he sees it, like a moment frozen then thawed, and Jinwoo is back to rummaging through a stack of wires and cables as if nothing had happened. 

“They have work.” He says. _And I don’t._ Kohta doesn’t question him further. 

The silence is painful. Kohta runs his hands against the sheets and tucks his feet underneath his legs. Words come to him easy but this time, they stick in his throat like a flu and he can’t get them out the way he wants, as if every word has to be plucked out perfectly because Jinwoo deserves no less.

“I’m sorry about the other day.” Jinwoo suddenly brings up, back still turned to him, and Kohta is thrown back a week ago into some dingy bar with a beautiful boy attached to his side and a night full of self-pity and shame. 

“What? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I can’t handle my drink too well.”

Kohta laughs. “I can tell.” He says and when Jinwoo turns around, that electric grin back on his face, he feels like if the world has an order, a way it should be always, then perhaps, this is it. 

“I’ll make it up to you today!” 

A controller is thrown into Kohta’s lap. Old and worn and this is his childhood preserved on display. When he picks it up, his fingers run over its buttons and grooves out of instinct as if even his hands have memory of this. 

“Games?” 

Jinwoo flops onto the bed and turns on the screen. “Yes! You don’t play?” He says, looking a little disappointed and Kohta fights the urge to kiss it away. 

“I used to.” Not anymore because he’s not a child, not a child, _not a child and it’s time for you to make something of your life, Kohta._

“So you do play! Don’t feel bad when you lose though.” Jinwoo laughs, nudging him gently and Kohta can’t help but grin. This feels oddly familiar, seamless, like his life has been on pause since three years ago and only now someone’s pressed play.

“You shouldn’t either.” 

“I don’t lose.” Jinwoo declares too confidently – but he’s right. He doesn’t lose and after his eighth win in a row, Kohta throws the controller in his face and crosses his arms over his chest, his bottom lip jutting out. He only lost because he hasn’t played in so long, he convinces himself, even though he can’t wipe the grin off his face. “What did I tell you?” Jinwoo laughs as if he hadn’t just pushed Kohta off the bed twenty minutes ago to secure a win.

“You’re a cheat.”

“I’m a winner.” It’s a god-awful pun but he lets it slide and watches as Jinwoo springs off the bed and out of the room, his voice trailing behind. “I’ll get drinks.” He shouts and leaves Kohta behind, alone in a room that smells of salt winds and dry sunlight. 

Sighing, Kohta throws himself down on the bed and stares at a white ceiling. His head feels too heavy, as if every one of his thoughts had its own weight, and his heart still thumps in his chest so hard he can feel each throb of its beat in his cheeks. Breathe, he tells himself, and sits back up, scanning the room. 

There is a photo on the bedside table in a simple black frame and Kohta picks it up gently. In it, Jinwoo beams happily, all teeth and crinkled eyes, hanging on the back of someone else with his arms wrapped around their neck. It is oddly intimate somehow, the way they fit together and they seem to be made from some strange mixture of history and fate combined. The other guy is familiar, like a movie he had watched long ago, but Kohta can’t put a name to a face and he focuses on Jinwoo instead who looks haggard and tired but so, so bright. He runs his thumb against the glass and wonders what it would have been like to meet this Jinwoo. How different would he be? And would Kohta still feel this way?

“I’m right here.” A voice calls from behind suddenly and Kohta whips his head around like he’s been hit. Jinwoo stands there in front of him, staring at him with wide eyes, and he feels caught.

“No, I wasn’t – I…” He tries to explain and though he knows he’s done nothing wrong, guilt greets him anyway.

But of course, Jinwoo is Jinwoo and Kohta should remember this. Hardly mad at all and he laughs at him, taking the frame into his own hands. “I know! I was only teasing.” He says, looking down at the picture with an alluring warmth that has Kohta hypnotised. He seems to wipe at the glass carefully before placing it in the bedside table draw and Kohta wonders whether there is more to it. In the end though, he doesn’t ask him about the photo and later, when Jinwoo falls asleep against him to the sound of a show in the background, he forgets about it entirely.

This is a concoction of one part desire to a hundred parts affection and Kohta drinks it down eagerly.

  
  


The ocean is an animal. It roars and crashes with every dip as if thunder had fallen and the waves had swallowed it whole. What else could it destroy, Kohta wonders, and leave nothing but foam on the banks in its wake? The bubbles gather beneath his shoes and he has an overwhelming urge to take them off and dip his feet in – but the cameras are watching him always and he fights it like he has everything else. The second shooting for the same, stupid photobook and the only thing he is grateful for is that it brings him back to Jinwoo. 

A cooling touch against his cheek and he turns to see Jinwoo grinning at him, canned coffee in his hands. He takes it gratefully, cracks it open and chugs it down. “Tired?” Jinwoo asks, looking amused. 

Kohta flops down on a chair and lets his head fall back. “Yes. But not that tired.” Not the tired of sleepless nights, even though that too ways him down like a weight against his shoulders. The kind of tired towards life when you’ve reached a stage of plateau, when you’ve realised you’ve done nothing in your life worth mentioning. 

Jinwoo places himself on the armrest of his chair. He looks down at him through a curtain of hair and somehow, he doesn’t look like the Jinwoo he knows. This one looks older, wiser, and Kohta can suddenly see the little lines beneath his eyes, the wrinkles on his lips. “Every actor has to do photoshoots.” He whispers and it feels intimate, somehow, like they’re speaking in secrets. 

“But what actor models more than he actually acts?”

“An actor who’s just beginning.” He laughs, as if it’s obvious, turning to look out into the horizon. He looks so different then and Kohta is reminded that Jinwoo has years of experience on him, that he’s not always the fool he makes out to be. “You have to start somewhere but it also means there’s a lot in front of you.”

Kohta scoffs. A lot in front of him but he can’t see it at all and what’s the point? Like trying to climb out of a sinking void and yes, there’s a lot in front of him but there’s also too much in front of him and he can’t reach it at all. He wonders whether leaving Japan was worth it. 

Jinwoo doesn’t say anymore though and Kohta likes him all the more for it. He knows when it is just enough, when the silence is better than a string of empty words. Instead, Jinwoo gazes longingly at the water, letting salt winds whip at his face. Like this, the sun sets in his eyes and the light catches in his hair. Oh, this is a different kind of beauty altogether – one stripped raw, born from nature and nothing could compare. This is a beauty Kohta is in love with.

When Jinwoo turns to him and catches him staring, the ocean crashes on behind him as if calling out to one of its own. “What?” Jinwoo prods and Kohta shakes his head, as if that could erase what he’s just thought, what he’s been thinking for so long.

“Nothing.” He says almost too quickly and then, as if to cover his mistake and pretend like there is nothing more to it – “You fit well here.” It is true, and it’s the only way he can explain it. Jinwoo looks as if he belongs here, like he was carved from the sand and the sun and the sea. They all combine in him and they welcome him home like he is their child. 

Jinwoo hums and digs his shoes into the sand. “I grew up on an island. The sea is familiar to me. I used to stink of it.” He laughs and oh, it hits Kohta then like a freight train, all at once. 

Jinwoo smells like the sea. 

He smells like the sea.

The sea.

The sea.

  
  


If Kohta remembers nothing else of himself, he will always remember this: he is a child born of the ocean and the sand, of what little he was given and how much he has made. A childhood built on coastal rocks and a dream for something bigger and Jinwoo is its epitome, a snapshot of who he was and wants to be again. It is familiar and Kohta sees hope in it, in him, and a number of infinite possibilities.

So, home is an ocean and a land one thousand miles away but Jinwoo smells of it all and Kohta finds he misses it less.

  
  


There’s this guy Jinwoo is constantly around. Tall and lanky and somewhat handsome if you like that type – but Kohta doesn’t, not at all, and he sees a leech who won’t leave Jinwoo and him alone. _Let’s go out to eat_ and he’s there, _come over and watch some shows with me_ and he’s there. He’s nice and funny but Kohta can’t stand him because he’s either deliberately ignoring the cold glares Kohta sends his way or he’s that fuckin’ obtuse. How is he supposed to kiss Jinwoo or touch his neck or show him he’s way in deep and hopes Jinwoo is too when a mosquito hovers over them constantly?

“You two are very close.” He mutters when Jinwoo’s friend goes into the kitchen to get them some drinks. 

“Who? Me and Seunghoon? Of course! He’s my member. We get along well.”

Kohta shuffles closer, until there’s no room for Seunghoon to barge into when he comes back. Like this, he can see every twitch and he stares into Jinwoo’s eyes as if he can read the lies off his face. “Is that all?” He asks. Jinwoo pauses and Kohta catches him. 

He turns away from Kohta’s gaze and fumbles with the snacks on the table. “What do you mean, is that all?” He says but the sides of his mouth pull down just a fraction and oh, _oh_. There’s something there, _something_. Maybe not between him and Seunghoon but – but there’s a secret there. Dangerous and barely submerged and Kohta reaches for it unthinkingly, attempting to drag it out.

“I mean – ”

“Kohta!” Seunghoon calls coming back from the kitchen, cutting him off. The relief on Jinwoo’s face isn’t imagined but Kohta lets it go for now, too focused on how Seunghoon manages to squeeze in between Jinwoo and him anyway and settle down tight. He slams down cans of beer on the table and wraps an arm around both their shoulders. Kohta fights the need to shrug it off. “We have a photoshoot for a campaign in a couple days. You should come. You can meet the rest of us.”

Jinwoo scoffs. “He’s sick of photoshoots, Seunghoon. He’s an actor!” 

“And we’re supposed to be singers but look at us, hm?” Seunghoon replies, rolling his eyes, and he sounds bitter, somehow. Kohta doesn’t blame him. 

“Idols.” Jinwoo corrects, as if it makes a difference but it doesn’t change the fact that whenever Kohta asks, Jinwoo is always free.

Nursing a cold can in his hands, he writes a familiar character in the condensation before wiping it off. “I’ll come.” He decides like he hadn’t already done so the moment Seunghoon asked. When Jinwoo smiles at him, gigantic and blinding, he wonders how long it takes for people to tire of things, or if there are things you just can’t grow tired of.

“Really?” Jinwoo sounds hopeful and Kohta lets himself believe it’s something more. 

A sudden courage fills him then and he shuffles and tries to lean over, feeling a little bold. “Why not? I want to see you.” He replies, hoping Jinwoo’s gotten the hint but before he has a chance to look, Seunghoon elbows him in the side gently. 

“Rei’s gone into Seungyoon’s room again.” Seunghooon says suddenly without glancing and Jinwoo mutters a faint _oh_ before pattering away.

With just the two of them alone, Kohta feels a sudden tension he hadn’t before. Seunghoon eyes him knowingly, as if he can see everything he’s one over the last month, his every thought on display like a gallery. 

“Be careful.” He warns, and when Kohta looks at him wearily, continues. “Not of me.”

“Who then?”

Seunghoon takes a sip before tilting his head to one direction. When Kohta follows it, he finds Jinwoo coming back from the room. “Him.” 

“She’s not there!” Jinwoo declares, brows scrunched up – but Seunghoon just laughs and pulls Jinwoo down to sit, as if he hadn’t just warned Kohta to keep away from this boy who speaks slow and soft, who smells of the sea.

“Oh? My mistake.” He says but his eyes are still trained on Kohta as a final warning and it’s just ridiculous. He doesn’t need a warning, especially from some idol without a job he’s only met a couple times. He knows Jinwoo and there’s nothing about him that’s dangerous. He likes to take pictures of himself, he likes sleeping with his cats – there’s nothing there to stay away from and he brushes away Seunghoon’s words easily. 

Looking back, Kohta wished he’d have listened.

  
  


There is a nausea you get from too much. Too much anything and Kohta’s anything is all of this – artificial lights, white backgrounds and _click, click, click_. God, he hates photoshoots. All he needs to do is see Jinwoo – see Jinwoo and maybe kiss his handsome face and get the fuck out of here. 

A crowd of people rushing back and forth around him but he wants none of them and he sighs, runs a hand across his face. “Excuse me, where is Jinwoo?” He asks a staff member. She looks at him cautiously like she’s debating on whether to say (because now, now she shouldn’t – but oh, someone so handsome couldn’t be bad, could they?). He fights the urge to roll his eyes at her and instead, plasters on a dazzling smile. “I’m Kohta.”

Her face lights up in recognition and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking coy. “Oh! He’s spoken about you.” She says, pointing her finger to a space just behind him. “Jinwoo should be in dressing room four. Down the hall.” 

Kohta’s thanks makes her blush and he hurries out of there quickly before she can make a horrible excuse to touch him.

Jinwoo’s door is open though, when he reaches it. And he’s not alone. 

Peering into the crack, Kohta sees him with someone else, someone familiar and some sinking feeling makes its way to the pit of his stomach. 

Pressed against the wall, Jinwoo gazes up at this person lovingly, arms wrapped around his neck, with that look Kohta thought was only for him. “Minho.” He breathes out. Oh, Kohta knows that name. 

Minho hums gently, in the same croon Jinwoo does, and presses himself closer until each curve and groove of his body slots neatly against Jinwoo’s own. This is the one part fate. “Are you sad? Have you been lonely?” He asks and it is too intimate, too intimate and Kota doesn’t like this, he shouldn’t be seeing this. Like a moment that’s solely theirs and he is an intruder in it all (how long, he thinks, has it been like this and how long has he not known?).

Jinwoo’s smile is worn and sad, as if someone had thrown it out to dry. Kohta hates it. “I’m alright. I just missed you.” The ocean begins to smell foul. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Minho chants, stroking the nape of Jinwoo’s neck. He looks pained somehow and Kohta wonders what reason he has to feel hurt when he has Jinwoo and a career and Jinwoo and fame and money and fucking _Jinwoo, Jinwoo, Jinwoo_ he has it _all_. Kohta wants to run but he also wants to know (how long, he thinks, has he been playing the fool? Partially in love to wholly in love to so this is what it feels like to know you are worth nothing and he _deserves_ to know). He keeps his eyes open, his fists clenched.

“It’s not your fault. You’re doing well. I’m proud of you.”

Minho rests his head against Jinwoo’s forehead.

Go now, Kohta thinks. Run now. Save yourself while you’re half alive.

But his feet are stuck to the ground and he needs closure desperately. 

“But you should – you should be…”

Jinwoo cuts him off with a kiss.

Kohta closes his eyes. 

“I love you so much, Jinwoo.” He catches, and this is the other part history. “I love you.” Like a chant. “I love you.” Like a prayer. “I love you.” Like words only meant for them, like words Kohta shouldn’t hear.

A silence and then –

“I love you too.” 

Kohta lets out a breath and thinks that, if he tried hard enough, he could pretend they were meant for him (but he doesn’t want to play the fool anymore, he doesn’t want to be like this, he only wanted – )

He closes the door with a click that reverberates down the hall and decides he’ll walk home. It is raining today but Kohta needs the exercise. Nothing to be upset over. A little water never hurt anybody. 

There was nothing there between them anyway.

  
  


Beneath him, the sheets are ice. They smell of sweat and the cum stain from last night, a thousand days of work, a thousand nights awake. Floating, floating in this empty expanse and alone is the chain that grounds him and he should not forget. 

In the dark, his phone flashes like a beacon and a familiar, aching name lights it up. Kohta picks it up and traces his fingers against the screen, around and around in circles. Names are powerful, Kohta thinks, and this one suffocates him. 

He deletes the message, unread, turns off his phone and sleeps.


End file.
